


midnight.

by dimpleddarling



Series: the tumblr alchemist [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Havolina, Late Nights, Meet-Cute, Romance, Studying, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, fmab - Freeform, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 02:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21420379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimpleddarling/pseuds/dimpleddarling
Summary: It begins in her freshman year of college at Duke—the winter, actually. She remembers it distinctly because she had stepped in a puddle of water in her slides, and the cold water had seeped through the fabric of her sock. Shivering at three in the morning because your foot had just gotten waterboarded wasn’t exactly her idea of a pleasant experience, but oh well.The cafeteria is her haven—she feels the warmth rush around her, and her shivering slowly ceases as her body adjusts to the new environment. One night, she steps into the cafeteria, heading directly for her snack of the night, when she realizes that she’s not alone. A guy sits in the corner, hunched over a book, blond hair gleaming under the halogen lights.A surge of anger almost overwhelms her. This was her spot—what was this strange kid doing here?-Based on the ask, "Hello there! I hope you are well. I'm hoping you'd be kind enough to write me a Havoc Catalina fic from your prompt. That'd make my day. Have a fantastic one! Thank you!!" from @snowdog49 on tumblr!
Relationships: Rebecca Catalina/Jean Havoc, background - Roy Mustang /Riza Hawkeye
Series: the tumblr alchemist [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1510733
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	midnight.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pokypup49](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokypup49/gifts).

> I kinda ran wild with this one, haha. Enjoy!

Rebecca’s not quite sure when she begins the tradition of getting up at ungodly hours to get a snack, but once she starts the tradition, she can’t stop. 

It begins in her freshman year of college at Duke—the winter, actually. She remembers it distinctly because she had stepped in a puddle of water in her slides, and the cold water had seeped through the fabric of her sock. Shivering at three in the morning because your foot had just gotten waterboarded wasn’t exactly her idea of a pleasant experience, but oh well. She makes her way to the cafeteria across campus and barely manages to yank her fingers from the felt-lined pocket of her hoodie to punch in the code to the cafeteria door, pulling the door open. 

The cafeteria is her haven—she feels the warmth rush around her, and her shivering slowly ceases as her body adjusts to the new environment. She makes her way to the cereal bar, twists the silver dial, and allows the cocoa pebbles to fall into the little porcelain bowl that she snags. She doesn’t even add milk before she’s shoving a full spoon into her mouth—the cereal is dry, but the velvet chocolateyness accompanied with delightful crunching makes up for it as she slowly pours milk into the bowl. Cereal first, then milk—she’s not a cereal killer. 

She mixes her mixture with a steady hand and a careful eye, sinking down to sit on one of the plushy chairs in the corner. The first bite with the dairy is delightful. The second bite is even better. 

She realizes, then, that the entire cafeteria is at her disposal—the lounge too. She can eat as much as she wants, whatever she wants, and never has to face the disapproval or the judgment of everyone else. (Not that they can judge her much, considering everyone else’s diet consists of Top Ramen and Snickers.) 

She neatly presses the silver of her spoon against the side, draining out the milk on the spoon and slurping up the cereal. When the crunch is gone, she’s left with a liquid that resembles chocolate milk. She forgoes the spoon for this one, raising the bowl to her lips and taking a long sip of the mixture. 

Perfect. When there’s nothing else left and she’s sucking at the dregs at the bottom of her bowl, she raises her legs and stretches. 

And it goes all downhill from there. She doesn’t get up every night, considering that would mean a lot of nights without sleep, but she always visits the cafeteria once, if not twice during the week. 

There’s no one there the first few weeks that she experiments with her new hiding spot. She crunches on an apple one night, hanging upside down like a bat and reading the latest update to a fan fiction she’s following. Other nights, she takes a less healthy alternative (if you’re ever looking for a late snack, midnight waffles hit different.) but still, her hands are always occupied with her newest snack, and something else. 

Slowly, she gets into the responsible phase. It starts with her Calculus homework—She does derivatives, integrals, and limits throughout the night, thoughtfully munching on a pastry that’s half-stale. She finishes more, she realizes, if she works in her little hiding spot.

Becca even has a little hidey-hole for her own things. The cabinet that’s mysteriously locked? She has the key, and inside are a few spare blankets and pillows in case if she wants to camp out. She even has a few school supplies there too: nothing much, just a few pencils and pens. 

Her courses get a little bit more bearable. Sure, she knew that being a philosophy major wasn’t the best idea for her, but still—she enjoys every other aspect of college, and she’s happy that she can enjoy this part too. 

\- 

One night, she steps into the cafeteria, heading directly for her snack of the night, when she realizes that she’s not alone. A guy sits in the corner, hunched over a book, blond hair gleaming under the halogen lights. 

A surge of anger almost overwhelms her. This was _her_ spot—what was this strange kid doing here? She didn’t know why, but she wanted him to leave, _now_. Where was she going nap now? Where was she going to relax and unwind?! She wasn’t going to go back to the dorm rooms and deal with her stifling roommates, hell no. This man had wrongfully invaded her sacred space, her temple, and Rebecca was _mad_.

For a second, she considered leaving—she’s so upset that she doesn’t even want to be in the same vicinity as this stupid boy. He’s ruined everything. 

But she pauses, right as she twitches towards the exit. Why should she leave just because he’s there? He should be the one leaving. She stalks over to the food bar and finds that her appetite is gone. She makes do with a cup of hot chocolate, and angrily clenches her fingers around the cup over and over again as she sinks down, her own tiny rebellion. A part of her wants to march over and tell the stranger exactly what she thinks about his invasion, but she refrains, considering that she has an essay about how “The Avengers” is the greatest cinematic masterpiece of the century. 

She takes slow, scalding sips of her hot drink, her pen scribbling frantically across sheets and sheets of lined paper. At a certain point in time, her writing goes from neat block print to illegible cursive, the words all running together and looking very much like a messy doctor’s scrawl. It’s fine, she convinces herself, her professor doesn’t even read the essays fully through. 

Becca’s halfway through her fourth page when the kid gets up, making his way to the door to leave. HIs voice cuts through the relative silence of the room, right as his hand touches the icy handle of the door. 

“Try cinnamon next time.” He calls out. Becca’s head snaps up, her eyes boring into his. Based on the questioning look on her face, he makes a hasty addition to his comment. “In your drink. Try cinnamon. It’s good.” He says, and pushes the door open, gone with an icy gust of wind.

Typical prat. Of course he’d want to lecture her on how to have hot chocolate. She’s fine without any cinnamon, thank you very much. Becca snorts, accentuating her disgust for the interaction that just transpired, and looks down at the work in front of her. Her pen resumes its hasty journey across the lines, and the owner of the pen tries to blink startling baby blues out of her mind. 

\- 

He’s back again, and she’s going to murder him. Once again, she’s lost her appetite. Becca flicks her long brown hair over her shoulder and makes a mental note to tie it up before working tonight. She grabs her hot chocolate and turns to whirl away to her seat when her eyes catch on a little bottle. 

She tips it gently into the swirling mess of liquid, and neatly swirls it in. The first sip makes her eyes close, her lips curl into a small smile, and she hates the way the spice has that effect on her. She didn’t want it to be good, to be something that she enjoyed. Her original plan had been to try it and tell him how it sucked—

But she can’t. It’s too good. 

She blows across the surface this time, determined to make sure to preserve her tastebuds by allowing the liquid to cool down for a bit before drinking. Today’s homework isn’t much, just a small little research blurb on Plato and the Allegory of the Cave. She takes a few sips and finds that she truly does like her new concoction a lot better. 

“It’s good.” She calls out. 

The boy looks up, and without her having to explain, grins. He knows what she’s talking about, based on the way her hands are occupied with a grin. 

Stupid, idiot. He doesn’t need to be so happy about her enjoying his suggestion. 

“I’m glad.” He says, and returns to his work. 

It doesn’t escape her that there’s a little twang in his voice, a little twist at the “glad” that’s both exciting and infuriating. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He infuriates her. 

But apparently she doesn’t communicate that as well as she thinks she does, considering that by the next time she sees the boy again in her cafeteria, he’s moved away from his usual spot, a bit closer to her. 

There are no comments shared between them next time, they work in relative silence. She can hear his breath rasping slightly—she’s no Bio major, but it almost sounds like he’s getting sick. When he gets up to leave early on, she lifts her head up like she’s about to tell him, but thinks better of it, returning to her work and allowing the wind to carry the mysterious boy away. 

Maybe her prediction’s a little bit off, because she’s the one sick. She doesn’t go to the cafeteria at all for two weeks, barely managing to get in her homework on time. Her body aches, craving the sweet release of slumber. Her nose is stuffy, a bright red that makes her resemble that one reindeer in a way that’s totally not cute. Becca’s pretty sure that she’s gone through five Kleenex boxes in total. Her roommate’s done with her, the frigid bitch hasn’t shown up once in their apartment. 

When she does return to the cafeteria, lingering traces of her cold remain, but she greets her safe spot like one would greet a childhood friend. She’s too happy to really care about the blond boy and the fact that he’s moved closer to where she usually sits. For the first time since his arrival, she eats. Well, gorges, really. She’s had a rough time, she needs to treat herself. She has a little bowl filled with cold syrupy chocolate and a plate filled with fruits. She swirls the strawberries in the little pot, making her way through the rest of the berries, moving onto apples and oranges. 

“Feeling better?” The boy asks casually, not even bothering to look up from his work. She wonders what might be so engrossing that he can’t even bother to look up at her, but doesn’t voice that comment outloud. 

“Why do you care?” She bites, too tired to come up with a nice and polite reply. 

“Just asking. I’m not a creeper, if that’s what you’re worried about. The name’s Jean. Jean Havoc.” He finally lifts his head from his book and grins abashedly at her. The grin makes her remember the first time she saw it, and she might even feel a small twinge in her stomach. 

“I don’t remember asking.” She replies haughtily, and since she’s already on this path, she might just let him know how she feels. “Listen, Jeanine. I’m quite upset at you. This was my little comfort spot at weird times of the night, and your presence ruins it. I can’t do half the stuff I do because you’re here, not to mention that you make me lose my appetite. So—I’m upset over the invasion of my space.” The words are not even fully out of her mouth before she stands up, gathering her things in a huff, and stalks out. She has no desire to carry out the rest of her time in her spot, not when it’s being so sullied. 

The fact that the man has the audacity to be in her spot at her time the next time she comes by makes Rebecca see red. 

“Did my rant have no effect on you?” She storms over, right in front of him, her expression clearly showing her anger. Should she be so immature about something so small and simple? The rational aspect of her knows that she shouldn’t, but this was _her_ spot and she came here _first_, and she can’t help but feel like that counts for something in the books. 

(She also realizes that he’s moved closer, quite close to where she usually sits. In fact, he’s only two spaces down from her usual seat.) 

“Oh, it did.” The boy looks up, grinning the same grin that seemed to be his trademark. “In fact, I was actually considering not coming today. But then I decided that I didn’t want to miss a day to piss you off, so that’s why I’m here.” 

That response earned a little huff from Rebecca—this boy was absolutely insufferable. 

The young woman decided not to reply and to sit down and start working instead—she had better things to focus on. She had just pulled out her laptop when a small rustle made her look up. 

Havoc had apparently decided that he was going to interact with her now, a fact that made her want to smack him, and had pushed a small plate over. 

She glances over, curious. It’s the same pastries that she’s been eating for a while now, but they seem a bit different. She hesitantly picks up one of the croissants and takes a bite, the heavenly blend of flaky pastry and chocolate filling her mouth. He’s taken the time to make the regular stale fare into a real treat. 

Maybe she’ll rethink her position on kicking him out. 

Around four hours in, Rebecca stands up, grabbing her usual hot chocolate. She daintily sprinkles the cinnamon in, stirs it well, before glancing back at the studying form of Havoc. 

When she sinks down, she sets down a cup for him as well. He takes it gratefully. No other words are exchanged. 

This continues. He’ll get them food, and they’ll nibble and snack on his new creations and concoctions. When the hours start to stretch into long, endless ones, she gets up and makes coffee or hot cocoa. They usually don’t exchange words. 

“You should wear your hair a bit messy.” She suggests one night, hoping that he doesn’t take her tone as a patronizing one. “Not slicked. Messy makes it look like you don’t care, but still have style.” 

He doesn’t ask for any clarification, which makes her wonder if he’s even listening to her at this point, but her ego is immensely stroked when he shows up the next night with his blond hair carefully placed in her suggested hairstyle. He’s right. She does look good. 

Another night, their conversation is a bit more conventional. 

“Do you know how to do this bullshit?” He asks, words slightly muffled by the pen dangling from his mouth, finger tapping against his paper. She glances at the problem, and realizes that yes, she can do it. She writes down the problem, step by step with handwritten explanations on the side, and slides it back to him. “Math is a bitch.”

“Agreed.”

She slowly goes from hating his presence to enjoying his company. Some nights, he tells her to take a little nap, that he’ll wake her up in an hour for her to start working. Other nights, she pushes more food over to him, considering that he’s looking a bit worse for wear. 

When finals week approaches, she makes it to her spot every day. She’s running on a dangerously low amount of sleep, too much caffeine, and sheer spite to prove her professors that they were wrong about her. 

He’s there almost every night too, and she finds that he’s actually a good study partner. Apparently he helped his siblings study every night, and by teaching something, he learns better. She doesn’t mind it, as long as she learns what she has to learn. 

He doesn’t come one night, and that night alone makes her feel like she’s in solitary. The cereal loses all its meaning, bland and flavorless in a steady churn in her mouth. She finishes her homework, but she’s more lethargic than usual. 

She might not vocalize it, but maybe she misses him. Just a bit. 

-

“You’re here.” Becca can’t even keep the relief out of her voice when she comes back to see him sitting in their usual spot. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Finals week was a bitch. One of the nights was just too much for me, so I just stayed home and slept. Sorry, I should have told you.” He says, and that statement almost makes her want to bristle. He rips out a piece of paper and scrawls something on it—his number. When he hands her the slip, he winks. “In case of emergency. In all senses of the world.” He teases, and despite the slight sexual implication that would have made her slap him, Becca can’t help but blush.

“I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Catalina.”

“Oh, I know, Becks.” He grins at her, and makes no attempt to explain that statement. She doesn’t press him either, knowing that sooner or later, he’ll tell her. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the season for significant others or for long-term hookups, but she finds herself growing closer to Havoc. He’s sweet, she realizes, sweet when he gently pries her dozing head off the table and onto a pillow, sweet when he brings her a bag of Flaming Hot fries after she had mentioned a craving for them a few days ago. 

His reach into her life isn’t quite as carefully contained anymore. He walks her to her dorm, grinning her favorite smile of his before walking off, shoulders hunched to protect himself from the cold, a low whistle emitting from his lips. 

One night, she asks him in. They keep it quite PG, of course. He just stretches out to sleep, and her head makes its way to his chest. 

When he passes his Calc final, he runs to tell her—proud. She’s proud too, considering that she was the one who tutored him. But that final has a bit of a sentimental value—with his excitement, he scoops her head up and presses his lips against hers. When he steps back, there is just exhilaration on her face, and the sultry command to “do that again.”

Their little barrier of sitting opposite to one another fades away. She sits next to him when they study, leaning into his side, his hand twirling small strands of her dark hair. 

The cafeteria isn’t only special for them—Rebecca meets another girl during one of her late night binges, a girl by the name of Riza Hawkeye. She didn’t know that Riza would end up being her best friend at the time. 

The cafeteria worked for Riza too—it’s Jean and Rebecca’s favorite past time to see Riza growing closer to this one kid, a boy by the name of Roy Mustang. 

Who knows, maybe the cafeteria’s magical.

**Author's Note:**

> So, college au! let me know what you think. drop a comment, spill your feelings. 
> 
> drop a kudos if you enjoyed!!
> 
> catch me on tumblr @chai-and-coffee


End file.
